The Hotline's Payday
by FreedomLost25
Summary: There are times when you have to ask yourself "Why don't I just put a gun to my head, and pull the trigger?" Jacket's answer? He can't. At least, not yet.


**Disclaimer: I don'**

The Hotline's Payday

Everyone has gone through a point in their lives where they think, "Why don't I just put a gun to my head, and pull the trigger?" Sometimes, there is no good answer, and they just do it. Well here's my answer. I can't do it yet. As long as there's one person who still cares about me in this world, I can't leave. So I get up every morning, and listen to the answering machine by my couch. I get a new mission, I grab my mask, and I head out. I go where I need to go, and I finish the job. I come home to my girlfriend, pass out with her on the bed, rinse, and repeat.

Some people might think I get tired of the same old routine. Well, I don't. The only reason that's true is because of what I do every day.

They call me Jacket. A pretty stupid nickname, but it'll work for now. Anyway, as "Jacket" I go around hunting Russian mobsters. To put it simply, I kill people every day. Why? Because it's what I'm paid to do. At the moment, I have two mouths to feed every day, along with bills, and paying off the DeLorean I drive around in. Honestly, the way America is now, I need the money from the jobs I do.

I have more than one mask that I use when I go out on a job. My favorite is probably Richard the Rooster, which is the mask I used on my first job. However, I have some other ones, like Rasmus the Owl, Earl the Walrus, Don Juan the Horse, and, one of my personal favorites, Tony the Tiger.

I liked Frosted Flakes as a kid, alright?

My girl asked me why I have names for my masks. Honestly, it's because I could never do these things as myself. Each mask has its own identity, and personality behind it. That's why I don't use Richard as much anymore. He started taking on a life of his own.

My name is Adrian Parker, and I'm a vigilante.

Not a lot of people would call it that. Hell, I can barely call it that. Just like the masks, it's how I can live with the things I've done. The things Jacket has done. When you see things in the paper, you're pretty shocked. But I've seen, and done the things to those people seen on the paper. I see the eyes pleading for life as my foot crushes their head against the wall. I see the shock after I stab someone in the gut. I see the fear before I point the gun at someone's head, and pull the trigger.

Then it all came it a point, when my girl got murdered.

I woke up in the hospital, practically frothing in rage. I escaped the hospital, and went home. For the first time in a long time, I picked up the Richard mask, and put it on.

Richter was going to pay. With interest.

The man had been arrested for murder in the precinct. So I broke in when the cops had left for a crime. A gang deal down the street. I walked right inside, up to his cell, with a silenced Uzi in my hands.

"It was nothing personal," he had said. At that point, I didn't care. He made it personal.

Richard didn't care either.

I don't know how many times I shot him, but it was definitely way more than once. I'm sure the police came to find a mutilated body in the jail cell. They might have also seen the rat mask that I put on his head. He died the murderer he was.

I just couldn't see him as the Richter that tried to kill me without that mask on his face.

I got back in my DeLorean, and drove down the street. It was time for a road trip. So with enough money to last me, and my Richard mask in hand, I drove to D.C, where I didn't have to deal with all this bull anymore. I was done.

I drove and drove, with slight breaks of sleep here and there. Man was I tired at this point. As I got to an overpass close to the airport, I was thrown back with the force of a swat truck hitting my car.

My car…

The asshole just doesn't care for other people's property. I was too pissed to think at this point. My Richard mask was already on, and the silenced Uzi was already in my hand.

I was so done.

The SWAT teams were on four robbers in the middle of the bridge. Three were male, and one was female. I smirked crazily under my mask. There was one of the bags they were filling close to one of the SWAT guys, fully decked in heavy ass armor.

Payback time.

I sprayed the Uzi in my hands at him. It got his attention for sure. He aimed the gun at me, but I was pretty close to him. I took hold of the light machine gun in his hands, and pointed it under his mask. There was probably a look of shock on his face before I pulled the trigger under his mask.

"Was" being the key word as his brains splattered out the back of his head.

With a light machine gun in my hands, and absolutely nothing left to lose, I picked up the bag, and turned my gun on the SWAT team. It took a while for the boneheads in blue to realize that someone was behind them, what with them shooting at the other armed robbers. I rushed them, aiming at head level on full auto, taking everyone down.

Eventually, I ran out of ammo, and took my silenced Uzi out of my back pocket again; running and gunning my way back to the van.

The robbers were yelling at me, even if I couldn't hear them all that well. Probably something about gettting to the chopper.

Heh, movie reference.

I threw the bag ahead of me, and kept running. The Uzi was out of ammo, so I shoved back into my pocket until I could get some more. I got into the chopper, and headed out with the thieves.

"I don't know who you are rooster man, but thanks for the save," said the man with the oddly painted clown mask. It was white on the top half, and a dark red on the bottom, with black eye holes, making it look like a demon. The other three nodded at me.

"No problem. I was happy to help, if you could call it that," I said. The sound was muffled by the rooster mask. I decided "what the hell, honor among thieves right?"

So, I took off the rooster mask, as my blonde hair fell back over my eyes. I really need to cut it don't I?

"The name's Jacket," I said "nice to meet you."

"A rather polite one, don't you think Hox," asked the female in a distinctly Irish accent.

"Why should I care if he's polite? All I care about is the fact that he took down a fuckin' bulldozer with his own gun. That was a right beauty there, mate." This man spoke with an English accent. I believe it was of a Yorkshire descent.

"We'll talk to our new heister after we get out of here. Hey new guy," the man in the American clown mask exclaimed, "Was this just a one-time thing, or are you go to stick around?"

"Well, that depends," I said, "what kind of score did you pull out?"

I opened the bag. Inside, it was filled to the brim with plenty of money. I smirked.

"Yeah, I think I'll join up. Got nothing better to do."

I suddenly had a new life. I had a new future. For the first time, I had goals.

First was becoming the richest bastard in the world.

Second was taking down the people that made me commit all those crimes.

I knew right then that I couldn't care anymore. Now, I don't commit murders as Adrian Parker. I don't kill as Richard either. Rasmus, Earl, Tony, Don Juan, they didn't exist anymore. When I left Miami, I left them all behind. Now, I killed as one being. A being that couldn't even be called a man.

Now, I killed as Jacket.

Obama better watch out.

 **AN: Alright, so I've had this story in my head for a while. This is an AU, where Jacket both talks, and joins the gang earlier. He's still going to be a psychopath, and he still likes hurting people, but he has feelings. He has a heart as well. He's basically a gentle giant, if you replaced giant with psychopath. I might take this story of if it has no reviews, so if you like it, Review. Flames are fine, but I might not pay attention to them. Later Suckers.**


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